IF I HAD A BALLOT FOR THE 2014 ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME NOMINATIONS

As always, discussion about which artists are or are not worthy of the Hall of Fame is lively, impassioned, and contentious, made even more so this year with a ballot of artists for 2014 that ranges impressively across a stylistic and historical spectrum. Each year broadens that range, prompting increasingly heated debate about just what exactly is the "rock and roll" in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

The Hall itself does not provide much insight or even clarification in that regard, nor does it adequately define the criteria that qualify an artist as a Hall of Fame-caliber act. The entire statement of eligibility from the Hall of Fame's own website is as follows:

• "To be eligible for induction as an artist (as a performer, composer, or musician) into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the artist must have released a record, in the generally accepted sense of that phrase, at least 25 years prior to the year of induction; and have demonstrated unquestionable musical excellence.
• "We shall consider factors such as an artist's musical influence on other artists, length and depth of career and the body of work, innovation and superiority in style and technique, but musical excellence shall be the essential qualification of induction." [Emphases added.]

That is an authoritative statement with only one minor omission: What exactly is "musical excellence"?

What Is "Musical Excellence"?

The Hall of Fame does not define "musical excellence"; presumably, it is one of those qualities that is self-evident, such as knowing art or pornography when you see it. The Hall of Fame website features an Education section that provides a glossary of terms, but "musical excellence" is not among them.

That Education section, which includes materials for teachers to use to instruct their classes on the history and impact of the music, does contain some instructive information. For example, it does emphasize aesthetic reflection and aesthetic judgment as important concepts in helping to determine "musical excellence" (they are also listed in the glossary of terms), but the Education section still does not help to define "musical excellence" except by indirect, allusive example.

Those definitions of aesthetic reflection and aesthetic judgment are key concepts worth examining; from the Hall's glossary:

• Aesthetic reflection: The act of becoming aware of one's own process of understanding and responding to the arts, and of examining how others respond to artistic expression.
• Aesthetic judgment: The ability to form and articulate a critical argument based on aesthetic criteria.

Everyone who expresses an opinion on whether an artist belongs in the Hall of Fame follows those two concepts to arrive at that opinion. How well we formulate that opinion is a function of individual bias and limitations, with the correspondingly wide variance both in the range and in the quality of that opinion.

In essence, though, this is a two-stage operation. First, with aesthetic reflection, we sort out why it is that we respond favorably or unfavorably toward a certain form, style, or genre of music, and toward individual artists within those forms, styles, and genres. Developing a conscious understanding of why we like or dislike different types of music and different artists helps toward the next step of then being able to evaluate those types of music and those artists.

However, that is a big next step because that requires us to not only recognize why we like or dislike a musical type or musical artist, but to recognize why someone else may like or dislike a musical type or musical artist—and, more importantly, why that musical type or artist may be significant regardless of how we feel about it. Music appreciation is an intensely emotional experience, and it is overwhelmingly subjective, but it is possible to put our individual judgments into perspective, into a picture of the overall body of music of the Rock and Soul Era, to try to determine the significance of a musical type and a musical artist within that overall picture as the basis for evaluation.

None of which helps with defining what exactly the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame means by "musical excellence," particularly as it regards "musical excellence" as the overriding factor in whether an artist is worthy of the Hall of Fame. In political statecraft, the term "national security" serves the same function: It is never defined but it is used to justify war-making capabilities, invading other countries, enacting potentially oppressive laws, and spying on everyone including the state's own citizens. That ranges a bit far afield for our purposes here, but it illustrates how a broad, vague term lacking clear definition enables any and every kind of action, with the corresponding consequences.

Regardless of what "musical excellence" may actually mean, I have developed what I call Defining Factors to assess whether an artist is worthy of inclusion into the Hall of Fame. These five Defining Factors are:

• Innovation. The artist has invented or refined one or more aspects of the music.
• Influence. The artist has made a demonstrable impact on the music of either contemporaries or succeeding artists.
• Popularity. The artist has achieved an appreciable measure of commercial or critical success.
• Crossover appeal. The artist is recognized and appreciated outside the artist's primary arena.
• Legacy. The artist's accomplishments have lasting impact and appeal.

To be considered a Hall of Fame act, I think that an artist must rate as highly as possible in as many Defining Factors as possible.

Unlike the Hall of Fame, though, I maintain that the "essential qualification of induction" is not "musical excellence"—again, whatever that might mean—but rather legacy. This is implied in the Hall's one unequivocal criterion for eligibility, which is that an artist is not eligible until twenty-five years have elapsed from the release of the artist's first recording. This enables historical perspective, to put the artist into context within the overall continuum of the Rock and Soul Era to assess whether the artist really has had an impact on the music and, to a greater extent, on the culture that fostered the music.

In essence and in fact, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a museum, an institution designed to evaluate and recognize how the past has shaped our present and how it may suggest our future. Simply put, seeing an artist in the Hall of Fame means that the artist had some significant bearing on the music. The term "significant" is a notoriously subjective one, one that becomes an ill-defined and -placed boundary separating those artists who are worthy from those who are not. Perhaps this is the elusive "musical excellence" of the Hall's statement?

Nevertheless, as I have done for my assessment of the 2013 ballot and for my six "audits" of the artists already in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I have used my Defining Factors to assess the sixteen nominees for the 2014 ballot. And no matter how much aesthetic reflection and aesthetic judgment I use, these assessments cannot help but reflect my own biases and limitations.

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band

Background: This home-grown outfit was among the first to explore American blues-rock but found itself overshadowed by the spate of British acts that leapt to prominence in the mid-1960s from the Rolling Stones on down. The irony is that the Paul Butterfield Blues Band learned at the feet of the Chicago masters and at times even featured members of Howlin' Wolf's bands. Led by singer and harmonica player Paul Butterfield, who picked up his instrumental cues from Little Walter, and highlighted by guitarists Mike Bloomfield—arguably the greatest white blues guitarist you've never heard of—and Elvin Bishop, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band released a debut album in 1965 that was a high-energy, if overly literal, distillation of Chicago blues—from "Born in Chicago" to "Mellow down Easy" to "Look over Yonder's Wall"—that spotlighted both Butterfield's and Bloomfield's impressive chops.

The next album, 1966's East-West, was even better as the band blended jazz and even East Indian influences into its blues-rock core, the former with a cover of Nat Adderley's "Work Song" and the latter with the lengthy title instrumental: "East-West" was a revolutionary track that stood at the forefront of the extended instrumental workouts soon to be found in psychedelia and in the next wave of blues-rock jamming—the seeds of the Allman Brothers' guitar interplay, for instance, can be found here in Bishop's and Bloomfield's fretwork. When Bloomfield departed, Butterfield regrouped with a horn-based approach (1967's The Resurrection of Pigboy Crabshaw) that anticipated the big-group jazz-R&B sound soon to be associated with Blood, Sweat and Tears and the Chicago Transit Authority as well as with Bloomfield's own short-lived Electric Flag. However, Butterfield's curse was being able to forecast trends but being unable to capitalize on them, either through inadequate songcraft or modest arrangements that, barring exceptions such as "East-West," didn't fully explore the implications he had uncovered.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. It is possible that with no African-American blues artists nominated this year, and with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band making a surprising return engagement on the ballot, that voters will consider the band to be the 2014 blues artist of choice. But this is still an act that appeals to aficionados and not to general listeners—in other words, a marginal one.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Although it might be unfair that the British blues-rockers nabbed the spotlight from Butterfield and his band, it is not unjustified—they used the form as a springboard to more substantial developments. Butterfield did anticipate a number of musical trends but he couldn't translate them into commercial success or significant influence.

Chic

Background: Blending rock and R&B influences into its bouncy disco strategy, Chic offered a grittier, funkier take on dance music, and in the process provided inspiration for hip-hop and rock artists—the hit "Good Times," and particularly Bernard Edwards's rubbery bass line, provided the bedrock for, among others, the Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight" and for Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust." Edwards also provided another signature low-register classic for the risqué smash "Le Freak" as he and guitarist Nile Rodgers, both veteran session men, crafted the earthy foundation of Edwards's thick bottom and Rodgers's chicken-scratch guitar—funk elements dating back to James Brown's JBs—that supported the washes of strings and the airy voices of the female singers whose words carried an undertone of social unease even as the overt message was to "Dance Dance Dance," another key hit for the collective.

Chic offered a durable approach for disco, but the genre was getting buffeted by the 1980s, and the band had often been unfairly cast as relics of that period, exemplified by the seeming vacuity of tracks such as "I Want Your Love" and "Everybody Dance." Yet Chic developed a hybrid sound that proved accessible not only to dance styles—Chic's contemporary Sister Sledge bore a literal relationship to Chic's sound—but also to urban, hip-hop, and rock styles, while the rich yet lean production work of Edwards and Rodgers, the hallmark of Chic's success, quickly became in-demand, thus perpetuating Chic's influence. As any number of the anonymous disco bands from that period fade into nostalgia, the impact and influence of Chic becomes more salient.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Despite its seventh nomination since 2003, and even with no other disco act on the ballot this year, Chic is at the margin for a genre, disco, that has only grudging acceptance among Hall voters. This could be the last hurrah for the band for some time to come.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Admittedly a borderline pick, Chic nevertheless transcends its primary genre, disco, while influencing various styles. Its impact on hip-hop pioneers Grandmaster Flash and the Sugarhill Gang alone is an indication of Chic's impact on the development of music of the Rock and Soul Era, even crossing over into hard rock (cf. Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust").

Deep Purple

Background: Formed in England around the same time as Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, Deep Purple began with an eclecticism that seemed like a kid in a candy store, covering Neil Diamond ("Kentucky Woman") and essaying progressive-rock touches that highlighted the counterpoint between guitarist Ritchie Blackmore and keyboardist John Lord (the instrumental "Hard Road (Wring That Neck)") while, pretentiously, aiming even higher—Lord composed a Concerto for Group and Orchestra that was not exactly a classical gas. But when singer Ian Gillan and bassist Roger Glover signed aboard, Purple narrowed its concentration to hard rock and released a trio of early-1970s albums that exemplified the band's robust early metal. In Rock ("Speed King," "Child in Time") and Fireball ("Strange Kind of Woman," the title song) honed an approach that culminated with Machine Head, an essential hard-rock album that featured "Highway Star," "Never Before," the molten-metal "Space Truckin'," and the deathless anthem "Smoke on the Water." The terrific concert album Made in Japan managed to improve upon the studio versions; for instance, the extended version of "Space Truckin'," far from being indulgent showboating, still maintains an impressive cinematic air that is not outside the realm of progressive rock.

However, the glory period was short-lived, as Purple couldn't maintain the inspiration. Who Do We Think We Are? contained "Woman from Tokyo" and maybe one or two other memorable tracks ("Rat Bat Blue"), and then Gillan quit. His replacement David Coverdale (later of Whitesnake) gamely filled in for a few of albums before Blackmore departed; the live Made in Europe, featuring Blackmore and Coverdale, acutely demonstrated how the band did degenerate into onstage showboating. By the mid-1970s Deep Purple was done although the "Mark II" configuration, with Blackmore, Gillan, and Glover, did reform a decade later, to fans' delight but little else. At various times, high-powered American guitarists Tommy Bolin, Steve Morse, and Joe Satriani have stepped in (Satriani did not appear on any official recordings), lending the band a certain amount of cachet while suggesting Purple's stature, but except for Machine Head and Made in Japan, Deep Purple never delivered on the promise it suggested with demonstrable consistency, and it is hard not to see Purple as much more than a period relic.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. If for no other reason than the only other classic-period commercial hard-rock band on the ballot this year is Kiss, and compared to Kiss, Deep Purple more closely approaches that "musical excellence" the Hall purports to cherish. Added to this is the constant clamor from the "real rock and roll" contingent that this band is a major snub, which I don't think Hall voters are immune to—witness the elections of Heart and Rush last year.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Deep Purple lacks sufficient quantities of the Defining Factors I have used to evaluate previously-elected artists to be worthy of the Hall itself. I was a teenage Deep Purple fanatic who snapped up every Purple album I could, but listening to those albums later, I realized that the average Deep Purple album (excluding best-of packages) hit on all cylinders at best three or four times. That does not count Machine Head or Made in Japan, but two outstanding albums are not enough on which to hang a Hall of Fame legacy.

Peter Gabriel

Background: When Peter Gabriel left Genesis, he didn't necessarily abandon the grandiosity and theatricality that gave that progressive-rock band its notoriety. Rather, Gabriel channeled those elements into his new direction of blending Western pop styles with international, primarily African, influences and a social conscience informed by evident compassion. Although Gabriel receded from the spotlight by the early 1990s, he had already established himself as a richly informed, committed, worldly pop-rock artist.

Gabriel might have bade farewell to Genesis in "Solsbury Hill," his first solo success, but shaking off prog-rock pretense ("Moribund the Burgermeister") would take an album or two, although "Here Comes the Flood" had the same apocalyptic grandeur as Jackson Browne's "Before the Deluge." Those three songs appeared on the first of four consecutive, identically titled Peter Gabriel albums—Gabriel's intent was to present albums as successive issues of a musical magazine—and while the second album found him in intriguing transition ("D.I.Y.," "Exposure," and "On the Air"), the third hit its mark. Gabriel effectively rendered themes of individual paranoia (the unnerving "Intruder"), oppression (the brash "I Don't Remember"), and delusion (the compelling "Family Snapshot") with collective expressions of struggle, conflict, and resilience, humorously in "Games without Frontiers" and hauntingly in "Biko," a meditation on activist Steve Biko, who was murdered by South African police in 1976.

The fourth Gabriel album, titled Security in the US, continued his personal ("I Have the Touch") and social ("San Jacinto") yearnings while giving him his first American hit single, "Shock the Monkey," its video providing Gabriel with an outlet for his visual dramatics. It set the stage for his international breakthrough So, which saw Gabriel solidify his funky world-pop strategy into commercial success: "Big Time," "Red Rain," and especially "Sledgehammer" were huge hits; so was "In Your Eyes," which gained additional legacy from its use in the John Cusack film Say Anything; it also gave Western exposure to Senegalese mbalax singing superstar Youssou N'Dour, one of several high-profile artists (including Laurie Anderson and Kate Bush) on So as that album and its music videos became 1980s touchstones. And if So might have seemed too fluffy for prog-rock adherents, it also featured "Milgram's 37 (We Do What We're Told)," based on Stanley Milgram's famous social-psychology experiments.

Subsequently, Gabriel concentrated on movie soundtracks (for the critically acclaimed films Birdy, The Last Temptation of Christ, and Rabbit-Proof Fence) and his championing of world-music artists with his World of Music, Arts and Dance (WOMAD) movement rather than pursuing the pop spotlight. But Peter Gabriel's solo career has been a significant one in the Rock and Soul Era.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. Peter Gabriel's association with Genesis combined with the critical and commercial success of his solo career should satisfy many Hall voters with respect to Gabriel's credentials as a major artist. In fact, it is surprising that Gabriel has not been considered for the Hall already. The only concern is that a Gabriel induction could make a Phil Collins induction more likely.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Not only did Peter Gabriel reinvent himself following his tenure in Genesis, he did so in an approach that proved to be both innovative and popular. Gabriel brought world music into Western pop in a more integrated and less exploitative manner than, say, Paul Simon. Furthermore, Gabriel's reinvention and its distancing from his previous association, Genesis, was more effective and successful than was Don Henley's from the Eagles, which was still a fairly impressive break from Henley's previous style.

Hall and Oates

Background: Best known for their impressive string of dance-pop hits in the first half of the 1980s, Daryl Hall and John Oates walked a long and winding trail to get to that point. The duo did quite a bit of woodshedding in the 1970s, pursing folk, rock, and soul paths in search of a definitive style. With their harmony vocals and Hall's agile, expressive voice to the fore, it was inevitable that they would tagged as "blue-eyed soul," with the just-as-inevitable cover of the Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" lurking in the wings. But wedding that slinky approach to the bright bounce of New Wave and dance-pop by the end of the decade ushered in an extended singles-chart residency for Hall & Oates that has defined their legacy.

It took a number of tries to get to that status, though. The duo's second album, 1973's Abandoned Luncheonette, contained "She's Gone," which underscored the Philly Soul sound although the electric piano introduction prefigures 10cc's "I'm Not in Love," and although it became a hit, that didn't occur until 1976, after Low Rawls had scored with it first. Hall and Oates's supple balladic style produced their first hit "Sara Smile," but only after the hard-rock misfire of War Babies, produced by Todd Rundgren with his progressive-rock band Utopia backing them. Philly strings underpin the rock kick of the duo's first Number One hit, 1977's "Rich Girl" and its blithely tossed-off attitude (from Bigger Than Both of Us), but despite another hard-rock-oriented album, Beauty on a Back Street, which Hall and Oates have effectively disowned, stylistic changes were in the offing.

Although their cover of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" was a hit, it was a rote, strident rendition. However, its album, Voices, spawned a pair of monster hits, "You Make My Dreams" and especially the chart-topper "Kiss on My List," that set the stage for Hall and Oates's dominance in the early 1980s. Supple R&B infused "Out of Touch" and particularly "I Can't Go for That (No Can Do)" while sprightly pop powered "Private Eyes" and especially the notorious "Maneater"—all four singles went to Number One—and established the duo as undoubted hit-makers, with Hall's voice becoming the duo's trademark. "Say It Isn't So" and "One on One" were only slightly less successful, although "Adult Education," "Family Man," and "Method of Modern Love," all three still Top Ten hits, contained hints of intriguing record-making ambition, the result of a decade-plus of musical exploration.

Indeed, "Everything Your Heart Desires," their last Top Ten hit, displayed continuing maturity, but by the time it arrived in 1988, the duo's audience had moved on. By the mid-2000s, Hall and Oates were recording covers albums (2004's Our Kind of Soul) and even holiday albums (2006's Home for Christmas, although they had taken a shot at Bobby Helms's "Jingle Bell Rock" as far back as 1983). Despite a fair bit of musical exploration, Daryl Hall and John Oates are best remembered for their '80s-pop superstardom.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Hall and Oates were certainly a significant part of the pop landscape of the first half of the 1980s, but that and a smattering of chart successes in the 1970s will not convince voters that this duo is a major talent worthy of Hall enshrinement.

Would I vote for the artist? No. This duo with its surprising flexibility and eventual honing of its approach produced some enduring hit-radio classics, but while their smooth delivery spelled mainstream appeal, it did not spell artistic significance: There is a lot of surface excitement in Hall and Oates's music, but it is not supported by much substance.

Kiss

Background: Showmanship had always been part of the Rock and Soul Era, from James Brown's dramatics and Motown's choreography to the Stooges' chaotic assaults and Alice Cooper's Grand Guignol theatricality, the direct antecedent to Kiss's singular brand of stagecraft. But this hard-rock outfit took it a few platform-heeled steps further, incorporating its premise into its very persona while upping the onstage ante to nearly parodic excess. In many respects, some of those crucial, the music was secondary to the image, but as a reflection of rock music's evolution—substitute "development" if you are critical of the band—in the 1970s, Kiss is an integral part of that landscape.

The band's first few albums established its initial musical template: unadorned hard rock with unremarkable lyrics, performed with uneven instrumental prowess. Rhythm guitarist Paul Stanley and bassist Gene Simmons were competent singers but nothing more; drummer Peter Criss needed a beat injection; but Simmons and lead guitarist Ace Frehley got off some listenable lines now and then. Early songs like "Deuce," "Strutter," "Black Diamond" (later covered by the Replacements), and "Hotter Than Hell" came across more effectively on stage, and 1975's Alive!, the band's first live album, encapsulates Kiss's early charisma, particularly on the revamped anthem "Rock and Roll All Nite." What you don't get with the album, of course, is the stage spectacle—the lights, explosions, smoke, levitating drum kit, and the band's Kabuki-from-hell make-up and costumes.

Producer Bob Ezrin, who had worked with Alice Cooper, brought in firepower to bolster 1976's Destroyer, which, apart from a decent rocker like "Detroit Rock City," also supplied the power balled "Beth," a new dimension for the band. That growth continued subsequently with the swaggering "Calling Dr. Love" and another ballad, "Hard Luck Woman," which sounded as if Kiss had been listening to early Rod Stewart, while "Christine Sixteen" displayed more Brit-rock influence, although "Love Gun" sounded uninspired and a gender-reversed cover of the Crystals' "Then She Kissed Me" simply smelled of desperation. That was nothing compared to the disco inspiration of "I Was Made for Lovin' You," which, following the release of a solo album by each of the four members, signaled a loss of focus and flagging audience interest. (However, considering that Kiss's record label was Casablanca, which featured Donna Summer and the Village People, the disco angle shouldn't be too much of a shock.)

By the early 1980s, Kiss took off its make-up and masqueraded as a commercial heavy metal band with echoes of its earlier wolf-whistle mentality ("Lick It Up," "Let's Put the 'X' in Sex"). In some senses a sharper band (superior drummer Eric Carr had replaced Criss), Kiss nevertheless had lost its shtick and was one of a string of glam-metal acts shilling for attention. No surprise that it returned to the make-up although it could still pull a trick or two ("Psycho Circus") from its bag. Still, Kiss remains an indelible image of 1970s rock.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Kiss's gloriously garish theatrical presentation combined with an unrevolutionary hard-rock kick is the kind of crass commercialism that Hall voters will find unacceptable, a case of an act not meeting the standard of "musical excellence" the Hall holds in such high regard (even if it does not explain just what that "musical excellence" is).

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. However, in listening to those old tracks again, I was reminded of how unashamedly artless Kiss really was. For instance, "Hotter Than Hell" and even the later "Love Gun" are basic, almost crude, rock songs—which is saying a lot given the wide variance in quality over the decades—and even the fan favorite "Beth" is still a superficial sentiment. Still, it's the legacy Defining Factor that carries the decision here—Kiss is an essential component of the 1970s musical landscape that had a huge influence on subsequent rockers. Like it or not, Kiss is part of the story of the Rock and Soul Era and deserves its spot in Cleveland.

LL Cool J

Background: As one of several rappers who have gone into acting, LL Cool J (James Todd Smith) falls into the middle of a continuum with the Fresh Prince (Will Smith) and Marky Mark (Mark Wahlberg) at one end and Queen Latifah (Dana Owens), Ice-T (Tracy Marrow), and Ice Cube (O'Shea Jackson) at the other. In other words, his hip-hop career hasn't been as groundbreaking as the latter three, but neither is it merely a stepping stone to greater celebrity as the former two. Furthermore, LL's hip-hop success helped to bring the form into the mainstream, making him a significant, if not commanding, talent.

LL Cool J emerged in mid-1980s New York with a spare sound, underpinned by his DJ Cut Creator, inspired by rap pioneers Run-DMC—and, claimed another pioneering rapper, Kool Moe Dee, by him, but without any acknowledgement or attribution. This led to the famous feud between the two, expressed in the media and on various records (for instance, Kool's "How Ya Like Me Now?" and LL's "Jack the Ripper"), resolved more or less by LL Cool J's much greater commercial success (although Kool Moe Dee's supporters maintain that he is more incisive lyricist). LL's early high points were dexterous vignettes of urban lifestyle and adventures ("I Can't Live without My Radio," "Rock the Bells," "I'm Bad") that could be repetitive ("I Need a Beat") but that established his smooth confidence and easy flow.

And while he was no stranger to romantic and sexual boasts—LL Cool J does stand for "Ladies Love Cool James," after all—exemplified by the grooving "Jingling Baby" and the hilarious "Big Ole Butt," LL did help to introduce a love-ballad strategy to hip-hop with "I Need Love" and "Around the Way Girl." LL also explored record-making possibilities with "Goin' Back to Cali" (with a sample from be-bop trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, no less), which became the highlight of the soundtrack to the rich-white-trash film Less Than Zero and gave him crossover appeal. His best album, 1990's Mama Said Knock You Out, found LL countering the challenge of gangsta rap with hard-hitting tracks ("Cheesy Rat Blues," the title track), attitude ("The Boomin' System"), and carnality ("Mr. Good Bar"), although he kept his seduction-ballad approach with "Around the Way Girl."

As the 1990s progressed, LL Cool J's acting career became prominent, and although he kept recording, it did not seem to be his focus: 14 Shots to the Dome cribbed from West Coast gangsta with unconvincing results, prompting a return to the ladies-love rapping of Mr. Smith including the steamy "Doin' It" and the inevitable duet with Boyz II Men, "Hey Lover." More duets followed, such as "All I Have" with Jennifer Lopez, by which time LL Cool J was a celebrity more so than simply a hip-hop artist. By this time, though, he had already helped to bring hip-hop into the mainstream, which is the culmination of his legacy.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. With a sufficient combination of talent, attitude, and success, LL Cool J represents the crossover appeal of hip-hop into the framework of the Rock and Soul Era that Hall voters will see as significant enough for enshrinement.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Based on the quality of his recorded output, LL Cool J is a borderline candidate—some outstanding examples of the form without making a definitive artistic statement—but his other Defining Factors, popularity and crossover appeal, make him an important component of the music.

The Meters

Background: Think of them as Cajun cousins of Booker T. and the MGs: The Meters concocted a bare-bones bayou blend of funk and R&B that served both as the backing for artists from Dr. John to Labelle and, like the MGs, as announcements for their own artistry; the Meters scored instrumental hits with "Cissy Strut" and "Sophisticated Cissy." Keyboardist Art Neville and guitarist Leo Nocentelli spearheaded the Meters' sound, anchored by the loose-limbed rhythm section of bassist George Porter, Jr., and drummer Zig Modeliste (Art's brother Cyril later joined as percussionist); together, they crafted compact instrumental exercises such as "Look-Ka Py Py," "Pungee," and "Live Wire," which bore a strong MGs influence.

From their New Orleans beginnings in the late 1960s, the Meters continued to cut records through the mid-1970s. They added vocal numbers to their repertoire, including "Cabbage Alley," "Hey Pocky A-Way," the percolating "Fire on the Bayou," and "Jungle Man," which suggested where Little Feat got its laid-back groove and attitude from. In fact, listening to the Meters is almost like playing Name That Tune, or at least Name That Artist, because the accents and arrangements are so familiar from the various acts the band has backed. It's no surprise that the Meters have been an influence on 1970s funk and on 1980s hip-hop, although the band struggled to break through commercially during its initial stretch, leading to shameless 1970s pandering such as "Disco Is the Thing Today."

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. At least voters won't elect the Meters as performers, although the Hall might consider them to be prime candidates for the Award for Musical Excellence (formerly the Sidemen category). A couple of modest instrumental hits and a strong professional reputation won't be enough to convince voters.

Would I vote for the artist? No. The Meters certainly pioneered a blend of funk that proved to be influential—the problem is that no one outside of industry professionals and knowledgeable fans knew about it. Maybe Booker T. and the MGs had better press, but at least they got recognized while the Meters never supplied that one moment of genuine glory.

Nirvana

Background: There have been few schisms in the development of rock music, moments when the course of the music—and indeed the culture—became irrevocably changed. Nirvana provided one of those in 1991. With one album, Nevermind, and its biggest single, "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana single-handedly brought the 1980s hardcore underground into suburban living rooms and minivans—and kept it there. And although Nirvana's heyday proved to be short-lived, closer to the schism produced by the Sex Pistols rather than those produced by the Beatles and Elvis Presley, it has so far been the last schism rock music has seen—and given the continuing diffusion of the music, it may remain so.

Like the Sex Pistols and their genre, punk, Nirvana might not have been the first or most original grunge act—detractors claim that the band's sound and approach is too derivative of the Pixies—but it did what the Sex Pistols did: Nirvana captured its zeitgeist, the spirit of its age, and forced that age to adapt to its message. That might not have been apparent from the band's first album, Bleach, and its hard buzz of metallic punk although "Blew" and "Negative Creep" contained the seeds of singer, guitarist, and songwriter Kurt Cobain's insightful alienation. With drummer Dave Grohl now aboard, those seeds reached full-flower on Nevermind, Nirvana's first major-label release, which slammed out roaring riffs with a driving beat but, more crucially, with melodic hooks in songs like "In Bloom," "Come As You Are," the combustible "Breed," and of course "Smells Like Teen Spirit," which became not just a slacker anthem but one for all of Generation X. Sweetening the propulsive pot were Cobain's inchoate lyrics, shards of largely disjointed but often perceptive observation that became Rorschach blots for listeners of all stripes.

Nevermind's runaway success must have prompted a reappraisal by Cobain and the band for the follow-up In Utero, which lacked its predecessor's momentum—and many of its pop hooks—but which was more adventurous lyrically and musically. The band's new-found fame gets a veiled, sarcastic rebuttal in "Serve the Servants" and especially in "Rape Me," almost a parody of "Smells Like Teen Spirit," while the hard edge of "Radio Friendly Unit Shifter" ironically sanded off the gloss while informing "Scentless Apprentice" and the fine "Heart-Shaped Box," which indicated the care Cobain was now taking with his lyrics. Indeed, both "All Apologies," a hit ballad, and "Pennyroyal Tea," which name-checked Leonard Cohen, suggested Cobain's ambition to be a singer-songwriter. That became apparent with the band's appearance on MTV's Unplugged, released as a hit live album, which revealed Cobain's fondness for the Beatles ("About a Girl"), but, in the band's continuing diffidence to its success, it played a number of cover songs (ranging from David Bowie to Lead Belly) while giving a spotlight to alternative icons the Meat Puppets ("Lake of Fire").

Then in 1994 Kurt Cobain committed suicide (although conspiracy theories exist to claim that he had been murdered), and that was it for Nirvana. Posthumous albums dug up the inevitable unreleased material, but Nirvana's actual released output, although small, made a huge impact. In fact, that impact is the last great schism in rock history.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. This might be the last unequivocal selection for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for some time to come. In the last 25 years, no rock band not yet inducted into the Hall has had as big an impact and influence, and has left as big a legacy, than has Nirvana.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Given the diffuse environment of the Rock and Soul Era in the last quarter-century, Nirvana ranks highly in all the Defining Factors.

N.W.A.

Background: Sometimes the history of the Rock and Soul Era is punctuated by artists whose moment was brief but enduring, altering the course of the music irrevocably even though the artist's presence was fleeting. Bill Haley, the Sex Pistols, and Grandmaster Flash were such artists, and so was the hip-hop group N.W.A. Short for Niggaz wit Attitudes, N.W.A. wasn't the first gangsta-rap act—Schoolly D delivered the first truly graphic street-level vignettes (such as "PSK—What Does It Mean?), although Hall of Fame recognition for him is non-existent; first is not always lasting—but N.W.A. did deliver the definitive tract for the genre, Straight Outta Compton, N.W.A.'s second album, which has influenced countless acts while spawning the solo careers of Dr. Dre, Eazy-E, and Ice Cube. "Straight Outta Compton" is a gripping statement of purpose while "Gangsta Gangsta" details inner-city life in ambiguous terms and the notorious "Fuck tha Police" is a landmark challenge to authority that eerily presaged the 1991 Rodney King beating in Los Angeles and the subsequent rioting following the acquittal of the four L.A. police officers charged with the beating.

And that was it for N.W.A. Its first album was a tepid exercise that could hardly predict the impact Compton would have, and its releases subsequent to that quickly became uninspired and parodic. Furthermore, internal disputes ensured that N.W.A. would not last long, with Dre and Ice Cube embarking on substantial careers while Eazy-E, who also went solo, died in 1995. By that time, gangsta rap had become the dominant hip-hop genre while exerting a fascination throughout contemporary music and pop culture in general. N.W.A. had ratcheted up the stark storytelling of Grandmaster Flash and Run-D.M.C. while echoing the bluntness of rock's hardcore underground, and pushed the Rock and Soul Era into a graphic, profane existence. Like it or lump it, you cannot ignore it.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Last year, Public Enemy was the obvious and safe hip-hop choice, and this year you have to wonder if LL Cool J's inclusion on the ballot is wholly or in part to provide that kind of safety net again. Because given the still-contentious nature of hip-hop being in the "Rock and Roll" Hall of Fame, I still don't see Hall voters voting for two hip-hop acts in the same year. To put it crudely, will they vote for the Field Negro or the House Negro? Paging LL Cool J.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Although N.W.A.'s legacy amounts to only one album, its impact is what matters, and the band redirected the course of hip-hop, with a corresponding ripple effect on other musical and cultural forms, as a result of it. N.W.A. is the hip-hop equivalent of the Sex Pistols, and it will be interesting to see, if it is elected, if the group regards its election as a "piss stain" as well.

The Replacements

Background: In a number of respects, the Replacements were the American post-punk equivalent of the Kinks. Like that classic English rock band, which did have a bearing on punk, the Replacements made hard-rocking if sloppy albums and were notorious for their shambolic concerts (this band did release a live album called The Shit Hits the Fans, after all). Moreover, like the Kinks, who were led by songwriter Ray Davies, the Replacements featured one of the finest songwriters from the 1980s American underground, singer and guitarist Paul Westerberg. And if Westerberg lacked the historical and class perspectives of Davies, he nevertheless proved to be an insightful chronicler of suburban dynamics while sharing Davies's quiet sense of intimacy with and empathy for his subjects.

Getting their start on Minneapolis's Twin-Tone label in the early 1980s ("Color Me Impressed," "I Bought a Headache"), the Replacements attracted significant notice with their 1984 album Let It Be, one of the greatest alternative albums of the decade. "Favorite Thing," "We're Comin' Out," and a cover of Kiss's "Black Diamond" thrashed effectively and efficiently, but "Androgynous," "I Will Dare," "Unsatisfied," and "Answering Machine" displayed uncommon perception that takes a cockeyed, quasi-Thin Lizzy turn with "Tommy Gets His Tonsils Out." The 'Mats' follow-up, Tim, honed that blend of raw rock and melodic reflection into their first major-label release (Sire Records), and while it might have softened the hard-rock blows, Westerberg continued to develop his songwriting maturity: "Left of the Dial," a paean to college radio, and the generational blast "Bastards of Young" extended the rocking approach of Let It Be while "Kiss Me on the Bus" and especially "Here Comes a Regular" contained impressive acuity.

After lead guitarist Bob Stinson quit/was fired from the band, the remaining Replacements made Pleased to Meet Me as a trio with some session help; the album often divides fans, with long-time purists crying "sell-out" while newer fans found it accessible. Some of the stylistic experiments ("Nightclub Jitters") were atypical while some of the hard-rock exercises sounded perfunctory ("Shooting Dirty Pool," "Red Red Wine") or self-consciously important ("The Ledge"). Westerberg name-checked one of his influences, Big Star's "Alex Chilton," and added a modestly arty ballad, "Skyway," although "Can't Hardly Wait," originally slated for Tim, began to sound like an echo of the band's potential. Certainly Don't Tell a Soul sounded like mainstream modern rock (the tossed-off "Talent Show") even if "Achin' to Be" and "I'll Be You" still evinced Westerberg's facility, although the biting "Anywhere's Better Than Here" sounded like a group complaint. Indeed, All Shook Down was effectively a Paul Westerberg solo record ("Sadly Beautiful," "Someone Take the Wheel"), and the band soon sundered.

As part of the Great Bifurcation of rock music in the 1980s, during which time the underground (alternative rock, college rock, and other labels) proved itself to be a viable artistic and commercial force independent from the mainstream, the Replacements were a vital and influential example of the next wave of rock music, informed by the previous wave while suggesting new avenues, all capped by Paul Westerberg's discerning songwriting.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Although the Replacements moved from independent-label acclaim to major-label success, thus helping to pave the way for alternative rock's ascendancy in the 1990s, Hall voters will consider the 'Mats' success to be too modest, with not enough impact and influence.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. I must admit, though, that my initial assessment was No, albeit a very reluctant No as I feel that the Replacements are definitely on the borderline. However, in listening to their songs again, from the Twin-Tone days through the Sire years, it is clear to me that Paul Westerberg's songwriting had significant enough impact and influence on the development of rock music to push the band into the Hall of Fame. And if the shit hits the fans once again, let it be.

Linda Ronstadt

Background: In terms of technical ability, Linda Ronstadt is one of the greatest singers of the Rock and Soul Era, her pure, powerful, plangent soprano a signature sound of the 1970s and early 1980s. Yet Ronstadt's interpretive ability, which has defined her career, has been often misguided, rendering surface emotions that miss the essence of the song—as if a first-class actor delivered powerful line readings but with no conception of the character or the narrative.

Ronstadt began her career in the 1960s with the Stone Poneys, a folk-rock group that notched a hit with future Monkee Mike Nesmith's "Different Drum," which remains an early Ronstadt touchstone. Joining forces with producer Peter Asher at the turn of the decade, Ronstadt pursued country rock (the Eagles' "Desperado") that struck gold with Heart Like a Wheel, which remains her greatest album, in part because her powerhouse interpretations of "You're No Good" and "When Will I Be Loved" top those of Betty Everett and the Everly Brothers, respectively, and because the title track exemplified Ronstadt's championing of heretofore-unheralded songwriters—in this case, Anna McGarrigle—which brought their work to a wider audience, a trait that harkens back to Nesmith's "Different Drum.". Indeed, Ronstadt gave mass exposure to burgeoning talents such as Karla Bonoff ("Someone to Lay Down Beside Me") and Warren Zevon ("Hasten Down the Wind," "Poor Poor Pitiful Me") as Ronstadt became one of the biggest recording artists of the 1970s—and certainly the biggest female star of the decade—in no small measure because of her hit versions of gems from the rock and soul canon, "That'll Be the Day," "Blue Bayou," "The Tracks of My Tears," and "Back in the USA" among them.

Alas, those renditions may be powerfully sung but they betray a lack of conviction, as if Ronstadt were a hired session singer and not the discerning interpretive artist of her purported reputation. And as punk and New Wave began to supplant classic rock, she tried to remain au courant (for example, covering three Elvis Costello songs on the misguided Mad Love), but by the early 1980s she had performed on Broadway in Gilbert and Sullivan's The Pirates of Penzance before collaborating with legendary arranger and conductor Nelson Riddle for a trio of albums of pre-Rock and Soul Era pop standards, an indicator of how her career was ossifying even as she discovered a new generation of songs to render as leaden sentiment (although she had hinted at this direction by covering Nat "King" Cole's "When I Grow Too Old to Dream" back in 1978).

Blessed with a gorgeous voice and graced with catholic tastes in music, Linda Ronstadt brought a number of songwriters into the spotlight, but she essentially performed like a jukebox while never defining her own artistic expression. Nevertheless, she remains a significant performer of the Rock and Soul Era.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? Yes. Considering that Ronstadt has been eligible for two decades, and that fellow 1970s pop-rockers such as Billy Joel and Elton John had been inducted years ago, it is surprising that she has not been inducted yet. And as she is retired from music because of the onset of Parkinson's disease, she may get a groundswell of sympathy support.

Would I vote for the artist? Yes. Linda Ronstadt is definitely a borderline candidate when viewed in terms of overall artistic achievement, but her protean vocal talent, her popularity, her efforts to develop country rock, and her championing of songwriters is enough to push her across the threshold.

Cat Stevens

Background: Beginning his musical career in the mid-1960s, Cat Stevens seemed ideally poised for the 1970s singer-songwriter boom despite a lengthy recuperation from tuberculosis late in the decade. He recovered, though, and indeed Stevens (born Steven Georgiou of Greek-Swedish parentage in London, England) proved to be one of the commercially successful proponents of the acoustic-based, lyrically sensitive movement. Upon his conversion to Islam in the late 1970s, Stevens (now known as Yusef Islam) withdrew from the public spotlight, and for all intents and purposes his pop career was over although by the 1990s he revisited the secular realm.

Stevens's early efforts in the late 1960s displayed a heavily-produced sound courtesy of Mike Hurst, also Stevens's manager. "Matthew and Son" was his biggest chart success during this period, and it and the plainspoken sentiment of "I Love My Dog" presaged Stevens's cheerful, optimistic side to be found in his later hits, while he did also score a hit with "I'm Gonna Get Me a Gun," which nodded to the darker streak in Stevens's outlook while perhaps containing the seeds of his later, infamous seeming-support for Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwa against The Satanic Verses author Salman Rushdie. Ditching Hurst and his orchestration for a stripped-down folk-rock sound with former Yardbirds bassist-turned-producer Paul Samwell-Smith, Stevens hit his stride beginning with 1970's Mona Bone Jakon, whose keynote songs, "Lady D'Arbanville" and "Trouble," underscored his tendency toward melancholia, no doubt the residue of his own life-threatening illness, even as musically it was a precursor to his approach on his landmark album Tea for the Tillerman (1970). That album covered all facets of the singer-songwriter, from love relationships ("Wild World") to family relationships ("Father and Son") to social conscience ("Where Do the Children Play?").

Perhaps buoyed by success, Stevens's mood lightened for 1971's Teaser and the Firecat as its hits, "Peace Train," "Moonshadow," and Stevens's arrangement of the Christian hymn "Morning Has Broken," found the singer-songwriter more upbeat. While still producing hits ("Oh Very Young," a cover of Sam Cooke's "Another Saturday Night"), he also became more ambitious, unveiling a side-long track on 1973's Foreigner; meanwhile, other artists continued to cover his songs—Rod Stewart, for instance, had so much success with "The First Cut Is the Deepest" that many listeners think Stewart wrote the song. In 1971, Stevens contributed heavily to the soundtrack of the black-comedy cult classic Harold and Maude, with his "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out," written expressly for the film, becoming the de facto theme song, although it is hard to consider Maude, let alone Harold, to be a devotee of Stevens's music, his own mordancy notwithstanding.

Cat Stevens's career gradually tapered by the late 1970s, by which time he had converted to Islam and had effectively retired from the pop-music business. His legacy continued nevertheless; 10,000 Maniacs, for example, covered "Peace Train" although the band distanced itself from it, even removing it from subsequent pressings of its album In My Tribe, following the flap over Salman Rushdie. Stevens enjoyed popularity and influence during his 1970s heyday; however, his legacy is on a par with fellow singer-songwriters Harry Chapin and Jim Croce: borderline at best.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Hall voters do seem partial to singer-songwriters, most recently giving the nod to Donovan. But Cat Stevens was not as iconic as Donovan, with his impact and influence overshadowed by several other practitioners of the genre.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Cat Stevens could be an inspired craftsman who held the public imagination during the first half of the 1970s, but compared to his peers already in the Hall, he does not rise to the level of artistry, influence, and legacy that they do.

Link Wray

Background: Whether guitarist Link Wray personally invented the power chord is not clear. What is clear is that Wray's heavy, distorted, menacing guitar tone, voiced most effectively in a series of instrumentals starting in the late 1950s, had a pronounced impact on hard rock starting in the 1960s, and by extension it found its way into heavy metal and punk rock by the 1970s. Wray's technique is epitomized by the 1958 instrumental single "Rumble," which has endured in popular culture, notably in Quentin Tarantino's landmark film Pulp Fiction.

With some sources placing the origins of "Rumble" a few years earlier than its release date, the watershed instrumental was one of the very few instrumentals ever to be banned from radio play in some markets as "rumble" was, during its time, well-known slang for a fight. As one story goes, after Wray witnessed a bar fight during a gig, he wanted to simulate that experience in aural form. Peaking at Number 16, it was Wray's highest-charting hit and one of only two to crack the Top 40. In 1959, Wray reached Number 23 with his instrumental "Raw-Hide," which indeed sported country and western flavor in its lively tempo. But Wray was never destined to be a pop artist; the hard, primitive rock exercises he and his band the Ray-Men devised, which stood in marked contrast to polished, "twangy" pieces by contemporary Duane Eddy, would remain just below the surface of rock music, surreptitious influences on subsequent guitarists.

Early 1960s British rockers including Jeff Beck, the Kinks, and the Who had picked up on Wray's thick, powerful technique—Peter Townshend's chording in the early Who instrumental "The Ox" is practically an homage to Wray. Moreover, listening to Wray's best tracks today is to hear the roots of garage-rock, punk, and metal. The brawny "The Black Widow" and especially the steely slicing of "Jack the Ripper" paint evocative sonic atmospheres, with the brash "Big City After Dark," the manic "Run Chicken Run," and the punchy "Deuces Wild," with its twin drummers, not far behind. As the 1960s progressed, Wray found his pioneering style already in sync with contemporary tastes—"Hidden Charms" would fit easily in the Nuggets set while "Climbing a High Wall" flashes some nasty wah-wah—but by now he was no longer an innovator. Wray's limitations as a technician are apparent on 1959's "Dixie-Doodle," which switches humorously between "Dixie" and "Yankee Doodle Dandy" although Wray's phrasing of both melodies is weak. Furthermore, Wray's attempts at vocal numbers ("The Shadow Knows," a cover of Jimmy Reed's "Ain't That Lovin' You") were amateurish, particularly his attempt to cash in on the "Batman Theme."

Link Wray's fame rests on his hard, heavy, rumbling guitar technique, which struggled to find recognition in its heyday of the late 1950s through the mid-1960s but that managed to become a distinctive influence on subsequent guitarists.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. In comparison to his contemporary Duane Eddy, Link Wray lacked the polish and the commercial success that would make him a more recognizable figure, and Hall voters will hesitate to name him as a qualified performer.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Not as a performer. Link Wray's contribution to the development of rock music is indeed worthy of the Hall of Fame, but it is very difficult to justify Wray's inclusion as a full-fledged performer. He is an ideal candidate for the Ahmet Ertegun Award, which honors "industry professionals who have had a major influence on the development of rock and roll."

Yes

Background: There is no doubt that Yes epitomizes progressive rock: big ideas, even bigger musical execution of those ideas, the instrumental firepower to drive that musical execution, and, every now and then, the accessibility to appeal to listeners beyond the band's fervent fan base. And don't forget those Roger Dean album covers, evoking Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and Heavy Metal magazine to illustrate the mythical, mystical, science-fiction thrust of Yes's best-known material. Yes was truly the band whose albums were ideal to play Dungeons and Dragons by—and given the length of the band's greatest conceits, those albums could sustain a long night's worth of abstract treasure hunting and Orc slaying.

It would take a couple of albums for the band's formula to coalesce. Late-1960s psychedelic folk informs the eponymous first album, which features covers of the Beatles and the Byrds, but orchestral backing on much of the second album (Time and a Word) signaled the band's elaborate constructions to come in the 1970s. The Yes Album (1971) featured lengthy, multipart songs drawing from Lewis Carroll ("I've Seen All Good People") and Robert Heinlein ("Starship Trooper"); this set the stage for the keynote set Fragile (also 1971), which saw keyboardist Rick Wakeman join singer Jon Anderson, guitarist Steve Howe, bassist Chris Squire, and drummer Bill Bruford to form the most instrumentally accomplished version of Yes. Yet despite some notably accessible moments ("Long Distance Runaround," "Roundabout"), the album began to make a fetish of virtuosity at the expense of emotional connection, a trait that mushroomed on the next album (Close to the Edge) and prompted Bruford's departure to King Crimson—an eyebrow-raising move as Yes was now a commercial success and Crimson definitely was not; Alan White replaced Bruford.

Tales from Topographic Oceans, a double album with just four side-long songs, exemplified the elephantiasis that gripped the band for the next few years (Wakeman too left Yes—only to make his own overblown series of solo albums before returning to the fold), and while the later 1970s found Yes with occasional accessibility (the cheerfully chaotic "Going for the One," the wistful "Wondrous Stories"), individual divisiveness and a fading audience spelled the end of the band. Or did it? Having weathered personnel conflicts, Anderson, Squire, and White regrouped with original keyboardist Tony Kaye, guitarist Trevor Rabin, and producer Trevor Horn for the 1983 album 90125, which spawned a pair of power-pop hits, "Leave It" and the chart-topping "Owner of a Lonely Heart," that really reflected the influence of Horn and Rabin more so than the "classic" Yes.

The band continued in the commercial vein with diminishing returns before affecting a transition back to its roots in the 1990s, with Howe, Wakeman, and even for a time Bruford returning. But Yes's legacy remains centered on its prominence as a progressive-rock icon of the 1970s, and that is where evaluation of its inclusion in the Hall of Fame will remain focused.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. Not this year, anyway. Yes's nomination should be seen as an attempt to counter charges that the Hall is biased against progressive rock, which means that voters will not necessarily endorse Yes as a worthy example of the genre.

Would I vote for the artist? No. Yes embodies too many of the negative traits of progressive rock, which is one of the most promising genres in rock but which is also the most prone to excess in pursuit of that promise. In Yes's case, intellectual pretense and obfuscation overwhelm lyrical inquisitiveness, and instrumental indulgence overpowers musical invention.

The Zombies

Background: Unusual for a British Invasion band, the Zombies put the instrumental spotlight on keyboardist Rod Argent rather than on guitarist Paul Atkinson, as was the practice of any number of guitar-dominant, big-beat British Invasion bands from the Beatles to the Rolling Stones. (Only the Animals, among the notable British Invasion groups, also featured a keyboard-dominant approach.) Instead, Argent gave the band a swinging, sophisticated sound that contained the stirrings of jazz-rock that would come to fruition in a few years. It worked initially, as the band's first single, "She's Not There," hit Number 12 on the British singles chart but raced to the top of the American singles chart in 1964, in no small measure due to the coyly rueful lyrics sung with nonchalance by Colin Blunstone. "She's Not There" has attracted a raft of cover versions including those by Vanilla Fudge and Carlos Santana, who had a hit with the song in 1977.

A few months later, the Zombies notched another US Top Five hit with "Tell Her No"; significantly, it just missed the Top 40 in Britain, possibly because its group vocals bore too much of a resemblance to the Beatles'. Whether that was the reason, the band found itself scrambling for hits, as was the custom at the time; it even resorted to a cover of the Little Anthony and the Imperials standard "Going out of My Head," which failed to chart. After getting a record deal with CBS, the Zombies cut an album in 1967, Odessey and Oracle (the misspelling of "odyssey" was a printer's error not fixed prior to release), that did little to reverse the band's fortunes.

The album did feature a song called "Time of the Season," a coolly sophisticated pick-up song right in sync with the free-love period, that had tanked its first time out in 1968 but that hit Number Three on the US charts a year later. By then, however, the band was already defunct, with Rod Argent off to form his own eponymous group best known for "Hold Your Head Up." Odessey and Oracle has, over the years, become a highly regarded artifact of the psychedelic era, but it and the Zombies' previous singles are a footnote to the Rock and Soul Era and not a major entry.

Will the artist be voted into the Hall? No. The 1960s have been picked over pretty thoroughly by the Hall, and there are no glaring oversights from the period not yet rectified, although proponents of Sonny and Cher, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Tommy James and the Shondells, and any number of other acts will argue otherwise. If by some chance Hall voters do elect the Zombies, it would be on a par with their election of the Dave Clark Five.

Would I vote for the artist? No. The Zombies had a refreshingly different sound exemplified by the wonderful singles "She's Not There" and "Time of the Season," but the band made too little impact to be worthy of the Hall. I'm surprised that the Hall didn't try to package the Zombies with Argent, which featured some of the Zombies and which had commercial success and a longer life span than the Zombies, although neither Argent on its own nor combined with the Zombies are up to Hall worthiness. That's a bad precedent that I don't want to see pursued any further (cf. Small Faces/Faces) in any case.

Voting Summary

The table below summarizes the 16 nominees for 2014 by how I think the Hall voters will vote and by how I would vote were I eligible to do so.

2013 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Nominees
Nominee	Hall Vote		My Vote
	Yes	No	Yes	No
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band		X		X
Chic		X	X
Deep Purple	X			X
Peter Gabriel	X		X
Hall and Oates		X		X
Kiss		X	X
LL Cool J	X		X
The Meters		X		X
Nirvana	X		X
N.W.A.		X	X
The Replacements		X	X
Linda Ronstadt	X		X
Cat Stevens		X		X
Link Wray		X		X
Yes		X		X
The Zombies		X		X
Totals	5	11	8	8

Although I myself am still surprised to see that I would vote for more nominees than would the Hall of Fame voters, I do think that this year's ballot does have several worthy nominees across historical and stylistic ranges. My estimations of how the Hall voters will decide is purely a shot in the dark—as if I could hope to encapsulate what more than 500 voters will think—and it is based on their collective historical record. I will not elaborate further on the Hall's vote but I will summarize my own choices below.

In the deep historical period, Link Wray lacks the standard track record of a full-fledged performer although his undeniable influence on the development of rock music makes him an ideal Ahmet Ertegun Award candidate. The Paul Butterfield Blues Band was among the first white practitioners of blues but could not capitalize on its discovery with appreciable commercial or critical success. Meanwhile, the Zombies simply did not exert sufficient popularity or influence to merit serious consideration.

Moving into the 1970s, with a number of genres and styles on display, Kiss and Linda Ronstadt are the biggest names from the decade that deserve to be enshrined—both became part of the cultural landscape that fosters the music and must be recognized for their achievements. And although Deep Purple, Cat Stevens, and Yes are also among the big names of the decade, none were among the most significant acts of their respective genres, and the overall qualitative merits of their respective catalogs are insufficient compensation. Chic is definitely a borderline choice that rises above its primary genre, disco, because of its subsequent influence on a variety of styles. However, the Meters, despite its discreet influence, lacked the popular edge that Chic had and fall below the line.

The 1980s yielded another broad range of genres and styles, including examples of the Great Bifurcation that split the alternative scene from the mainstream, although the fusion of both at the end of the decade produces Nirvana, the most obvious/least controversial pick on this year's ballot. Among pop names, Peter Gabriel and Hall and Oates are the biggest, and while both Gabriel's artistic and commercial achievements are sufficient to grant him induction, Hall and Oates has only its glory period, commercially speaking, to draw from, and that is insufficient. LL Cool J might lack the hardcore credibility expected in some hip-hop circles, but it is his crossover appeal that pushes him across the borderline; conversely, N.W.A. didn't exude crossover appeal in the conventional sense and in fact didn't survive very long, but its moment was a significant one for the Rock and Soul Era. Finally, the Replacements were one of the first underground rock acts to enter the mainstream, and the band's modest success does make it a borderline pick, with only its songwriting to nudge it across.

There. That is my best assessment of the 2014 ballot for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. All that's left is to wait for the actual results.

But before we get to that: Who would you vote for? Or not?